


Ship Wars at Hour 49

by Evilawyer



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilawyer/pseuds/Evilawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ship Wars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ship Wars at Hour 49

“He luffs me best,” Rose childishly pouted with the lisp that everyone assumed was caused by ill-fitting braces.

“Rose? What are you doing here,” the Doctor asked as he self-consciously fingered his bow tie.

“Dream on, Rosie,” River countered with a well practiced wiggle of her fifty-first century honed hips. She pushed her mature but still very impressive breasts into cleavage-enhancing position, then ran her hands through her cascade of curls. On her head. “He loves me best.”

“River!” The Doctor nervously tugged at his forelock. “When did you get here?”

“Cougar,” Rose venomously spewed.

“Jailbait,” River snidely parried.

“Actually,” the blond haired, elfin-faced woman in the white jodhpurs and red hunting coat sniffed from the other side of the room, “some people think he loves me best.”

The Doctor spun around to face the latest addition to the ever worsening situation. “Romana!?”

With the perfect timing of a synchronized swim team, River and Rose turned their heads to bark “Back off, bitch,” at their Old School rival before returning to their to-the-death stare fight.

A boyish giggle wafted through the air. “You're all delusional,” the peroxide blond man in the hoodie lounging on the seat nearest the ramp to the exit door said. “He loves me best. Always has, always will.”

“Master, how...,” the Doctor began. He gave up trying to say anything more in favor of taking advantage of the cover provided by the ensuing four-way screech fest to slink out of the TARDIS.

“Ya know,” Amy said as she refilled her and her drinking buddy's champagne glasses and settled herself more comfortably on the top stair of the TARDIS' staircase, “I think we've done all right, picking the fellas we did.”

Martha stared at the distasteful scene still unfolding on --- or rather grappling and rolling around on --- the floor below. “Yeah.” She raised her glass and clinked it against Amy's. “I think we have.”


End file.
